The Life of Rosie Wallace
by msszing
Summary: The story of a twelve year old girl from the Capitol named Rosie Wallace. She realizes the horror of the hunger games during the seventy forth, and discovers the horror of the world she lives in.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! This is my first "published" fanfiction. Hope you enjoy! Leave a review please (if you have the time) **

The bell rang, releasing us from school. I rushed down the hall, to the exit of the building. However, a crowd of other kids had gathered; everyone was excited to watch the Reaping.

"Hey Rosie!" Myla, my best friend, was squeezing through the crowd to join me as we tried to exit the school.

"Hey Myla," I replied while scanning the herd for Jone, my brother, "Is your family still coming over for the show?"

"Of course! Wouldn't miss it for the world!" She winked, and we shuffled out of the school. The cool breeze flew through my hair, and I squinted in the bright light of the setting sun. The skyscrapers surrounded us, and we waited outside on the edge of the fountain in front of our school for my brother.

Finally, my brother emerged from the school. Most of the other people already left, hurrying home to watch the Reaping. But Jone continued to take his time, his long blonde hair flipping in the wind. Myla sighed next to me, and I rolled my eyes. It was a common known fact that she fancied him, though she always denied it.

He strolled over, glanced at us, and started heading home without uttering a word. Myla and I quickly followed him. I made a mental note to discuss this with my parents. The fact that I wasn't allowed to walk home without my older brother to "accompany" me was unfair. I was already twelve, and Myla was with me. We should be allowed to walk a couple blocks alone!

As we approached our house, Jone unlocked the front gate, and sprinted for the front door as the gate slowly closed on me. I sighed as I entered the passcode. I waved goodbye to Myla as she headed for her estate across from mine. She just moved in there last week. I walked up the lawn, entered my house, and closed the door behind me. My parents were sitting in the next room, in front of the large screen that covered the wall on our white plush couch. I headed up three flights of stairs and turned left for the West Wing. The violet sky shone through the stained glassed window at the end of the hall, and I turned into my bedroom.

I fell into my favorite pink pillow. It was covered in soft pink plush, the same pink plush that covered my entire room. I slipped off my white sweater and peeled off my tight pink dress. I then went into my closet and picked out a thin blue dress. I lifted my string of pearls off my mahogany desk and placed them delicately around my neck. I twirled around in front of my mirrors in my powder room, located across from my bedroom. I remember when Father had them imported straight from District Four. I ran my fingers through my curled blonde hair, and decided I was ready for the party. As I started down the stairs, the doorbell rang.

I rushed to the door and flung the door open. Myla and her parents were there, smiling, and I greeted them and showed them in. My parents rushed over to greet them, and they all strolled over to the viewing room.

"Where's Jone?" Myla stared up the stairs.

"I don't know…" I replied, "Let's go over to the viewing room."

We walked over, and the screen was showing Caesar's face, discussing previous Games. The Reapings took place earlier today, while we were at school. Every year, our family would watch it on our screen, and bet who will win. I glanced over at Myla, who was quietly sitting on the couch. My parents were drinking some sparkly liquid, and the rustling noises above the ceiling signaled that Jone was about to join us.

"Mr. Wallace," Myla started, addressing my father, "Can I try some?"

My father grinned, and handed her the glass. She took a sip, and started coughing. The adults all chuckled, and Myla slumped down, embarrassed. Her brown hair covered her red face. _Huh… _I thought as I noted her hair had lost its shine. Suddenly, the Capitol symbol flashed on the screen, and everyone quieted down. I took a seat next to Myla, and Jone slipped into the room.

The replay of the reapings started, and there was good old Poland Gold, who was commenting away. The District One reaping started, and the girl tribute was a volunteer. She had golden locks, like mine.

"Wow, she's really pretty!" I commented.

My comment was met by a round of applause and cheers. "Honey, when you're her age, you'll be twice as beautiful!" Mr. Kip, Myla's father, assured me loudly. I blushed, and the reapings went on.

The District One male was this strong, handsome, confident guy. The District Two tributes were volunteers as well, but they seemed really arrogant as they strolled up to the front. The other reapings past by without any particular or special tributes. There the strong tributes from District Four, who volunteered, and sullen looking tributes from all the other districts. I glanced around and noticed that my mom, unlike my father, was sipping from her glass quietly, with a distant look in her eyes. My eyes went back to the screen to see a young girl from District Eleven. She was small, like me, and I heard Poland say that she was twelve. I heard my father sigh, as he did whenever there was a tribute that was picked with no chance of winning. It made his job less exciting. I watched a large boy get picked, also from District Eleven.

The reapings continued, moving on to District Twelve. The entire district seemed to be coated with dust. I glanced at the clock, and realized how late it had gotten. I hoped the reapings would end quickly… The escort, Effie something, picked out the female tribute, another twelve year old. The cameras zoomed in on the girl's face. I gasped.

The girl had a round face, blue eyes, and light blonde hair. I heard Poland mention how she was twelve, and that her name was Primrose. Her hair, her eyes, her face, her size, her figure, they all looked like mine. She looked remarkably like me. There were noticeable differences, like the fact that her eyes were set further apart, her nose was smaller, her face was longer and thinner, and she was skinnier, but otherwise, she could be my sister. On screen, an older girl ran forward and volunteered to save her. She mentioned how the young girl, Primrose, was her sister. The cameras went back to her, as she screamed her older sister's name. It was then I noticed the biggest difference between us; her eyes were the same color as mine, but hers were almost empty. There was a hollow ring, as it looked, around her pupils, and it seemed as if she had experienced all hardships of the world. The bones in her face stuck out, and she was scary skinny, the skinny that every girl at school strived for.

I looked around. The gazes of everyone in the room were on me, mentally comparing my features with the girl's. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. I focused my gaze on the screen in front of me.

The screen showed the face of her older sister, apparently named Katniss. Her face was dark, and you could see the shadows in her eyes. The audience didn't applaud, but instead gave her this hand salute. The boy tribute was called, and they shook hands and left the stage.

I was still shaken when Myla and her parents left, and when my mother disappeared into the bathroom. I didn't speak as I headed up the stairs to my room. All I could think about was that girl. If she was in the Capitol, she would've definitely been my friend.

As I climbed under the covers, the sound of her voice was stuck in my head. Her voice rang with agony, and I thought about her older sister. Unlike the other volunteers, her voice was filled with desperation, whereas other volunteers had voices that rang with arrogance. Suddenly it hit me; the girl was protecting her younger sister. The little girl, Primrose, would've died in that arena. She was small, skinny, frail, and delicate. Just like me.

I clapped my hands and the lights turned out.


	2. Chapter 2

I opened my eyes to the sound of a bird. I looked to my right, and the small mechanical bird was chirping away on my nightstand. I pressed the small button on its head and remembered how Father got it for me from District 3. Slowly, the memory of the reapings the night before came back. I couldn't get her or her sister out of my mind…

I pulled on a blue miniskirt, and buttoned a matching shirt. I reached for my blue fur vest, put it on, and glanced in the mirror. For once, my outfit felt… too much. A month ago, my father had it imported from District 8, where they made clothes. My heart stung for a moment. I remembered the reaping from District 8; a scared looking boy and girl, frail, around Jone's age. I shrugged off the vest.

I opened my top drawer to find my jewel collection. I fingered through all the strands of diamonds, emeralds, pearls, and other jewels. Every year for my birthday, my father imported something special from every district for me. I remember receiving all of my diamonds, but I don't remember what I received from District Twelve. I took a seat on my bed and racked through my mind. I know I received something from District Twelve every year; I always counted twelve presents. But I still couldn't remember what it was. I frowned and headed downstairs.

Jone was sitting on the couch. His schoolbag was packed, and as I walked down the final flight of stairs, he glanced once at me, and headed out the front door. Once again, he didn't say a word. I followed him out the door.

He already made it halfway across the lawn. I rushed forward to catch up.

"Jone! Wait!" I called across the lawn. To my surprise, he stopped and waited.

"Hey," I paused to catch my breath, "So what did you think about the reapings?"

A shadow passed over his eyes. He looked away from me and started walking away again.

I didn't try to catch up again.

We walked slowly by Myla's house, but she didn't come out to join us. So we continued walking. As we reached the school, Jone disappeared inside. Suddenly, I realized I haven't heard him speak in at least a year. He hasn't uttered one word.

How could I not have noticed?

I walked into my classroom, and everyone was buzzing about the Reapings. Ton Mancey was yelling about the District One girl, and Kyli Robitt was singing about the boy from District 2. The teacher was even talking about it. She was a calm teacher, and she changed her hair color every week to match her daughter's. I quietly took my seat, thinking about the girl from District Twelve. Katniss. Her volunteering wasn't to gain anything for her; she was protecting her sister. She wanted to keep that little girl away from the arena. The arena that my father helps create every year.

I closed my eyes and thought of all the kids I've seen die every year. Good thing Primrose wasn't in the arena this year; I probably couldn't bear to see someone so like me die in the arena. No… wait, she shouldn't be in danger of dying like that in general. I wasn't in danger. My brain hurt with the amount of thoughts flying in and out of my mind. I clenched my fists.

"Rosie!" My eyes flew open to see Myla, right in front of me. She was wearing a plain white buttoned shirt with a pleated skirt. I frowned; I've never seen Myla dress so out of style before.

She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the teacher clapping her hands, signaling the start of class. I watched everyone else sit down. I wanted the Games out of my head.

"So, children, who watched the reapings yesterday?" The teacher's cheery and bright voice rang across the room, and every hand in the room shot up eagerly. Kyli, on my right, started talking out loud about how she and her family were betting on the boy from District Two, and that he has been training his whole life, and that he was muscular, and handsome, and strong, and confident, and something else that I didn't catch. I was staring at Kyli. She was eagerly describing this volunteer, a boy who volunteered his life to be thrown into an arena. And all she was talking about was how beautiful he was. I couldn't help but feel disgusted.

Class continued. I didn't participate as much as I normally did. During break, Kyli turned towards Myla and me, and tried to start a conversation.

"Guess what? You know how blue is the new green?" Kyli chirped, her voice dripping with peppiness. I nodded slowly. "My parents said I could dye my hair blue! Just like Onna's!" Kyli was of course referring to Onna Woods, the acclaimed fashion stylist. I gasped. My parents said I couldn't dye my hair until I was fifteen! Everyone looked up to her! Whatever she wore determined the next trends. I smiled with interest in the conversation.

"You're so lucky!" I cried out. I looked down at my shimmering blue outfit and sighed. Kyli's blue and white dress outshone mine, literally. Her dress was glittering in the light, and her short black hair fell on her shoulders very naturally. I gave a small smile, looked over at Myla, and then I frowned.

Myla looked so much different than I remembered. Her hair, as I noted before, had lost its glow. Her face fell and her eyes were dull. Her clothes were completely out of style, and very plain. I closed my eyes and pictured the Myla I remembered, the girl who would pick out my clothes and teach me about style and style options. But she hasn't done that in a couple years.

Kyli glanced over to Myla as well. The confusion on her face revealed that she didn't notice the changes in Myla, either. Not until now...

"Myla, what's wrong with your shirt?" Kyli asked, with a rude tone. Myla glanced down at her white blouse. There was a smudge of dirt on the collar. Her face turned red and she mumbled something unrecognizable. Kyli snorted, and turned the other way.

I faced Myla. She avoided my gaze, and fingered her limp hair.

"Myla… are you okay?" I whispered.

"Yes Rosie, I'm fine," she mumbled, and tried to change the subject.

"You don't seem fine. I can't believe I never noticed this before. You've been different for a while and as your best friend, you can share anything with me, for real," I whispered urgently.

She glanced around, and lowered her voice, "Okay, so remember the 72nd Hunger games?" I nodded, confused on where the conversation was going. She continued, "When my father was drunk, he bet most of our money on the boy from District Two that year. He lost it all. We had to cut back on almost everything, but he kept buying himself alcohol—"

I interrupted, "But you just moved into a mansion! You know, the one across from mine!" Her eyes darted downwards.

"We work there. My mom and me. We clean for the old couple that lives there. My mom is looking for a real job though, since my father keeps spending all of our earnings... soon we'll get our money back and I can get into blue season as well," Myla looked at me, waiting for a reaction, but I was still processing all the information. The teacher stood up, forgetting we were on a break, and clapped her hands.

"Not. A. Word." Myla hissed in my ear as the teacher began the lesson.

**Thanks for reading. I will be posting Chapter 3 tomorrow or the next day :). Please leave a review if you have the time! **


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